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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27453271">Thorn in my side, I've missed you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenchen/pseuds/Nenchen'>Nenchen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Good Omens Fai-retells [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aka this is a retell of sleeping beauty, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale doesn't use his sword but he does wield a kitchen knife, Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Brother's Grimm, Canon Compliant, Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Crowley Takes a Nap (Good Omens), Crowley is good at flirting, Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Fairy Tale Parody, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fluff, Funny how thats not a canon tag, Happy Ending, Lunch, M/M, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pre-Canon, Sad, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Some Humor, VERY LONG HAIR, a precursor, catching up with your adversary over some lunch and wine, dust - Freeform, i know i know it seems OC, just a touch, or well, soft, tbh there's so much dust i might as well add it as a character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:35:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,484</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27453271</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenchen/pseuds/Nenchen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale is on a heavenly assignment concerning the book of tales the brothers Grimm are writing when he spots a castle that's mysteriously covered in a frankly absurd amount of roses. Local rumors lead him to believe it is demonic activity...</p><p>Aka Crowley just wanted to take a nap.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Good Omens Fai-retells [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005714</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Thorn in my side, I've missed you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I started writing this as my second GO fic. If you look at everything else I've written so far you can see how well that went XD I was uninspired a long time but thanks to the Ace Omens server and our races, I finally pulled through. I might be wrriting more more or less GO Fairytale retells, because this is still very fun!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
 </p>
</div><p>Aziraphale was, if not happy, then as content as he could be with an assignment. Finally heaven had allotted him a job that fit his abilities and preferences. Travelling with the brothers Grimm to judge the morals of their story collection for heaven was almost exactly what he loved to do (except from all the walking it required). And thus far, the literary journey had been going along splendidly! The people he met were not exactly sophisticated philosophers, sure, but hearing the stories they could come up with, told from one generation to the next, preserving them… it made his heart swell. And even though he didn’t admit it to himself, the festivities surrounding each of their arrivals and the local specialities played a role in his generally genial mood too.</p><p>Though some of those stories were a bit over the top, truly unlike any story he had ever read. Point in case: This town’s story about the old, overgrown castle they had seen on their way through the forest. Where certain other beings would at most see a break of safety regulations, the humans had come up with all kinds of charming and, well, magical theories.</p><p>“You can’t even see it once was a castle, it might as well be just a gigantic hill covered in roses!”<br/>
“My Ma told me there was a young princess who was cursed to endless sleep by a fairy because she didn’t get invited to her birth!”<br/>
“Ridiculous. My Pa told me the curse lays on a visiting prince, the most beautiful man anyone had ever laid their eyes on!”<br/>
“I heard it was just some idiot who went, squatted in the old castle and fell asleep.”<br/>
“My Ma said the princess was cursed by stinging herself on a rose because the roses wanted to preserve her true beauty forever!”<br/>
“No, no, you got it all wrong, the prince stung himself on the rose, but as he was not of this world the roses drank up his blood, drained his energy and became a sentient rose monster that will forever guard his lifeless body in its thorny grasp!”</p><p>At this point, as per usual, the storytellers got into a small, friendly brawl over which story was right. The brothers, who had already taken their notes, wisely ignored this and, instead of getting caught in the crossfire (which was partly real fire this evening), packed up, getting ready to set out for the next town. </p><p><a id="return1" name="return1"></a><a id="return2" name="return2"></a>Aziraphale however could not shake the feeling that there was more to this story than to the others they’d heard. When they had passed the castle earlier that day, he’d felt something… off about it. He didn’t know much about roses, but he was fairly certain from his experience with gardens,<sup>[<a href="#note1">1</a>]</sup> that they didn’t usually grow like that. Shouldn’t be able to really. It certainly seemed unnatural. And, combined with the stories, everything about this screamed “demonic”. It might as well have smelled like sulphur, for the dramatic effect.<sup>[<a href="#note2">2</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="return3" name="return3"></a>And, seeing as the book was almost done, he decided it was his angelic duty to investigate. To protect the nice and generous villagers.<sup>[<a href="#note3">3</a>]</sup> </p><p>So, he went and explained that he’d have to leave the brothers now. They sent him off with a glint in their eyes and a slap on each of his shoulders after he’d told them he’d visit an old friend who was living around here.</p><p>“Make us proud, Ezra! May you find encouragement and inspiration in our stories if you find yourself wondering how to behave around him!”</p><p>Maybe he shouldn’t have told them about Crowley as much. He really didn’t know where they would get those ideas though.</p><p>The next morning, as the sun rose, their ways parted. Aziraphale, in no hurry, got himself a good lunch and some wine packed up in case he, or they, got peckish. Upon further consideration, he also took a big knife and some thick leather gloves. He could deal with a demon easily, but roses were a different story.</p><p>As he came up to the castle again, he was glad for his cautious assessment of the situation. The roses truly covered the entire structure, almost no stone visible. And they were old and strong. Their stems thick as tree branches, dark and twisted, in a way that was sickening to look at, thorns bigger than his hand. Demonic for sure. The flowers however were quite beautiful, velvety in texture and the deep red colour of a good wine. Still, the overall impression was distinctly inhospitable. </p><p>Trying to vanish the flowers miraculously only left him with the final evidence that these flowers were demonically influenced. He huffed. </p><p>“You know, I am quite sure he didn’t want to keep me outside. So you might as well just move away and let me in,” he told the flowers sternly.</p><p>The flowers did not answer in any way the angel could perceive.</p><p>“Oh, alright. Then this is your own fault,” he said, put on the gloves and got to work. </p><p>Now, cutting the thick vines with a simple knife would have seemed a near impossible feat for any human. Aziraphale however used to wield a flaming sword, and even though he hadn’t wielded it in a long time, nor touched or even seen it, he still knew how to utilize a blade. Though he wisely decided against the fire.</p><p>Just a short while of hacking and breaking later, he stood in the courtyard of the castle which, ridiculously, was completely free of any overgrown flowers. Really, if these were normal plants they would have spread everywhere. This whole setup was so obviously magical, he really had to have a word with the demon about it. </p><p><a id="return4" name="return4"></a>A quick observation of his surroundings revealed a small wooden door on the side of the courtyard that seemed to lead inside a kitchen of some sorts. Upon inspection it was quite obvious that no one had visited it in decades, dust thick on the pans and workspace and even the fireplace. Thankfully, all possibly spoiled food seemed to have taken “dust to dust” to heart and joined its ranks. Aziraphale moved on, carefully as to not upset the dust and have to walk through clouds of the dry and sticky stuff. The castle was fairly small for a castle but still big enough to almost get lost in, even with angelic senses. There was rooms upon rooms, bedrooms, another kitchen, storage rooms, a throne room, a room that seemed to be filled with spindles for some reason, another room that seemed to be filled with candles, a library, a dungeon, some cells, another library,<sup>[<a href="#note4">4</a>]</sup> several bathing rooms, a small cathedral, everything you could ever need in a household – but not a single living being. No Crowley.</p><p>Aziraphale sighed as he found the last door, which led to the tower. Of course the demon would go to sleep in a tower, dramatic thing that he was sometimes. Aziraphale didn’t feel like climbing all those stairs after all the plant cutting and sneaking around that he’d already done. Leaving without seeing the demon after all this however was out of the question, so he just sighed into his hand as to not give the dust any ideas, and moved up the stairs.</p><p>Exactly 666 steps. Aziraphale rolled his eyes, even though the demon couldn’t see it. Really, if the demon was cranky after all this effort he’d put in he wouldn’t seek him out for at least a decade. What a hassle.</p><p>He slowly opened the door to find a room, bathed in the red-gold light of the evening sun, filtered through a few vines climbing over the window. And there he was. </p><p>Crowley. </p><p>Unmistakably and undeniably the demon he’d been looking for, laying on the single bed in the room. Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath without noticing. </p><p>He looked beautiful.</p><p>His clothes, albeit out of fashion by now, even for nightwear were ornate and delicate from what he could see underneath the blanket. His hair, almost glowing in the soft light, was curled and long, longer than almost his entire body probably, bunched around his head and flowing down onto the stone floor. But the most marvellous thing was the demon’s face, his features relaxed like Aziraphale had never seen them, a small smile on his lips. He looked like a dream, a painting, a vision. Aziraphale felt strange feelings going out from his heart and spreading into his stomach, climbing up his throat. He squashed them down with practised ease.</p><p>He couldn’t wake him. It seemed a cruel thing to do. Unbearably so. </p><p>Leaving him here alone however didn’t seem like the right thing either. Especially since there was already dust settling on his face. Rather a lot of it, in fact. The angel got out his handkerchief to gently wipe some of it off. It ended in a cleaner face, but also a rather big dust cloud. And Crowley’s nose was twitching.</p><p>Aziraphale could barely take a step back before the demon’s entire body convulsed enough to sit him up with one great, big “ACHOO”. And then several more. When he finally seemed like he was done he blearily and moodily looked around the room. The angel held out the cloth with an apologetic smile.</p><p>“Azira-CHOO!”</p><p>The demon was attacked by another bout of sneezes, blindly grabbing for the cloth to wipe at his face. It came away rather stained and Aziraphale was trying his best not to look as annoyed about it as he was. But really, it was hand embroidered silk!</p><p>Crowley, face now reasonably clean, although a bit red, tried speaking again.</p><p>“’Ziraphale? What are you going here?” he slurred.</p><p>“Investigating demonic activity, of course.” </p><p>The demon looked a tad more confused at that.</p><p>“Demonic activity? I was just taking a nap!”</p><p>“Well, apparently that nap has lasted several decades at this point and the local townsfolk has become a bit-” Aziraphale paused to think of the best word to combine the unease and sensationalism of the people “- unsettled. Not to mention the roses.” </p><p>“Roses?” Crowley said, incredulously.</p><p>“Yes, the roses! The giant rosebush that’s grown over the whole castle! Really, Crowley, some of those thorns are half the size of my arm. Certainly not very un-demonic,” he admonished.</p><p>Instead of looking properly chastened, Crowley’s face lit up like a child’s upon seeing a horse shit for the first time. Pure glee upon realizing the potential. In the blink of an eye he was out of bed and at the window, marvelling at the roses, leaving another dust cloud in his wake. </p><p>“Completely forgot about them! I told them I was not to be disturbed or I’d make sure they would suffer for their rest of their mortal lives. However, it seems like that wasn’t quite enough motivation,” he says, voice dropping low and dangerous like Aziraphale had rarely heard it, as he looked from the roses to Aziraphale and back to the roses.</p><p>“They certainly did their best. There’s not much on earth that can stand up to an angel and they certainly tried very hard. Why did you try to nap this long anyway? Oh, and are you peckish? I brought some food, and wine!”</p><p>Aziraphale produced said items from his little knapsack with a flourish, trying to change topic. He did feel oddly protective of the roses, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.</p><p>Crowley blinked at him, bewildered. And then grinned.</p><p>“You know what, I am.”</p><p>And thus they ended up having lunch on the floor of that room, after trying to sit on the bed and giving up due to all the dust. Crowley braided and put up his mass of hair while Aziraphale filled him in on the developments of the last years, often interrupted by Crowley saying “See and this is why I needed a nap!”. To which Aziraphale always responded with another fun tale he’d experienced. </p><p>After their meals, they got up, not bothering to dust themselves off, as it was hopeless at this point. Aziraphale felt a great need to bathe, but other than that his mood was great and stayed that way even as they made their way through the castle, Crowley having promised him an easier way through the roses this time. When they arrived at the looming wall of plantmass, Crowley only hissed some words Aziraphale didn’t quite catch, and the roses parted before them, as fast as plants could move. With an exaggerated flourish of his hands, Crowley signalled that the way was, indeed, free, and they moved on.</p><p>“Well then. Will you go back to sleep now?”</p><p>Crowley hummed thoughtfully.</p><p>“Nah, don’t think so. There seem to have been a few interesting developments while I was asleep that I should see for myself. You?”</p><p>Aziraphale couldn’t help the happy little jump his heart made at hearing that, though he could keep it from his face.</p><p>“Oh, I’ll have to write up my report on the brother’s book and send it off to heaven soon.”</p><p>“How fun. And will you add something about the demonic activity you so bravely put to a stop?” Crowley’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.</p><p>“Oh, I would have to report demonic activity, but I don’t think you can quite call sleeping an ‘activity’ so I wouldn’t want bother them with it,” Aziraphale said with a twinkle in his eye which made Crowley guffaw.</p><p>“You’re not wrong there, angel.”</p><p>By now, they had reached the end of the tunnel of roses, which had actually been quite pleasant to move through. Very scenic. They stopped, once more turning towards each other.</p><p>“I’d best be off,” Aziraphale said, pushing down whatever feeling rose in his chest.</p><p>He turned, quite resolutely, but was stopped by Crowley calling out to him again.</p><p>“Angel, wait!”</p><p>Aziraphale turned back, and there Crowley stood, the handkerchief in his outstretched hand, now remarkably clean again.</p><p>“Your handkerchief. And this-” he snapped off a single rose, wrapping it in the fabric “- is for the wine.” </p><p>He handed both of them over with a certain grin on his face and Aziraphale, stunned, took them without a word. Grin widening, Crowley turned, waving at Aziraphale over his back as he left.</p><p>“Take care, angel!”</p><p>Aziraphale wanted to say something else, but there was nothing he could think of. No good reason to stop the demon from leaving. As Crowley moved out of his line of sight, he grabbed the handkerchief just a little harder.</p><p>“Take care, dear,” he whispered, and then he turned. Off to get his report to heaven.</p><p>A few centuries later, there was a bookshop, inhabited by an angel and a flat above it. And on the night stand, next to the plush and a bit dusty bed, there was a vase with a singular rose, petals dark as wine.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a id="note1" name="note1"></a><b>1</b> Which included looking at French castle gardens, Eden, and of course, the most beautiful, English cottage gardens. <sup>[<a href="#return1">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note2" name="note2"></a><b>2</b> Aziraphale was aware that Crowley sometimes had used the smell of sulphur for demonic dramatics. He purposefully hadn’t educated him that the “terrified grimaces” most likely were due to the human’s brains associating the smell with something a lot more earthly, but arguably still infernal. <sup>[<a href="#return2">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note3" name="note3"></a><b>3</b> Of course it had nothing to do with the fact that he hadn’t seen Crowley in decades. No not at all. <sup>[<a href="#return3">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p><a id="note4" name="note4"></a><b>4</b> He would have looked at the books but they seemed like they would fall apart at the slightest touch. <sup>[<a href="#return4">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p>Feel free to tell me about spelling errors, grammar errors and britpick. </p><p>Come visit my tumblr at <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/goodduckingomens">goodduckingomens</a>.<br/>Comments and Kudos very much motivate me, so please leave some if you had fun! Keysmash comments appreaciated for the true Crowleys out there.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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